Drums Drums Drums Drums
by Helenaholland
Summary: Master's POV. Just a little 'in the mind of the master' sort of thing. One-shot.


Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

The drums never leave me alone, they are always there. Beating the same rhythm, never changing and never leaving. Even in my sleep they are still there, the never-ending drum beat pounds in my head as I dream of times past and things that would never happen. They could, oh they could happen but not with the drums. No, the drums stop me. They stop me from living, stop me from thinking.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

I remember a time when I didn't have the drums, before the vortex. Those glorious days when I was care free, no drums to worry about, no drums to stop me from living my life. Before the drums I was happy, I could live and I could think. Now those memories are tainted as the drumming is still there when I remember those times. The drums infect everything I remember, they are there when I think about the best days of my life. They infect everything.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I never heard the drums. How would my life have turned out? Would I still be the way I am? Was it the drums that made me this way or was this inevitable? Would I be alive? Would I be evil? Would I have joined the Doctor on his travels? Would we be friends? Would we still be enemies? What would have happened?

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

Sometimes I catch myself walking to the beat of the drums, I can't help it but it makes me so angry. The drums seem to rule my life and dictate what I do and how I do it. How can a drum beat make me live this way? How can my mind let the drum beat continue?

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

I've gone to doctors, to try and see if they can tell me what is causing the drum beat. They never found a reason and eventually I stopped going to them and tried to deal with it. But I can't deal with it, it is constant and yet each beat is so distinct and clear in my head. You would think that over time I would get used to it and it would just settle in the back of my mind. It doesn't. It never has. It is always at the forefront of my mind, there is no time when I am free from it.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

The rhythm is so familiar to me, my hearts seem to beat in time with the drums in my head. When I am sat down sometimes I realise that my fingers are unconsciously tapping the rhythm, other times I find that my foot is tapping instead. I don't even realise until I look down at my hand or my foot and see it moving. Sometimes I try to stop my hand from moving, but it won't. It just carries on tapping away, beating as the drum in my head does the same. Sometimes I wonder if this is what it feels like to go insane.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

Poor old Doctor. He tries to help me, thinks he can save me but he doesn't know about the drums. He, the man who has lived so long and become so wise, knows nothing of the torture that I endure constantly inside my own head. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I tell him. Would he have the cure? Would he call me insane? Would he try to understand what I am going through? Would he be able to?

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

There are times when it gets too much. When I cannot stand the drum beat in my head.

Sometimes I sit quietly and try to ignore the beat.

Sometimes I shout and scream to try and drown it out with the sound of my own voice.

Sometimes I pray to a God that I don't believe in to take the drums away.

Sometimes I play music as loud as it will go to see if it will distract me.

Sometimes I run, as fast and far as possible, to try and tire myself out and pray that I get the silence I crave in my sleep.

Sometimes I sit down with a knife in my hand and wonder if the drumming would stop if I was dead.

Sometimes I start to move the knife towards myself, needing to know if it would bring me the answer, give me the silence.

Sometimes I stop because I chicken out.

Sometimes I stop because I think about the Doctor and what he would do if he knew I died.

Sometimes I wish that I had just gone through with it and ended my misery then.

Always I hear the drums.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.

Drums.


End file.
